One Scotch, Please
by LM Simpson
Summary: Flintheart/Scrooge oneshot. A day in the life.


**Title: **One Scotch, Please

**Author: **LM Simpson (Kady the Red Panda)

**Pairing(s): **Flintheart/Scrooge

**Rating: **T

**Warning(s): **slash, angst, some coarse language, implied sex

**Disclaimer: **If I worked for Disney anything, they would fire my ass if this was even _proposed_ or _joked_. So yeah, this is totally a fanfic.

**Other tidbits: **This came to me recently. I don't know, it just felt like Flintheart Glomgold was always hiding _something _to me for some reason. He is still "human," after all. This fandom needs more wangst anyway.

If homosexuality or slash is not yer thing, then _git. _Just git. _Right now. _If my "lite" Southern accent emerges in my writing, I'm being dead serious. _Especially_ if you like Flintheart Glomgold. Flaming me will only prompt me to make fun of you elsewhere.

You have been warned.

0000

_I dream of fire/Those dreams are tied to a horse that will never tire_

_And in the flames/Her shadows play in the shape of a man's desire_

-"Desert Rose" by Sting

When you are the world's secondrichest duck you are expected to hate the man that tops you. You are silver and he is gold. You are K2 and he is Mount Everest. You are rubies and he is diamonds. You are expected to hate your rival, because at second place you are still not the best.

Flintheart Glomgold did indeed possess a rivalry with Scrooge McDuck. He attempted to outplay, outwit, and outlast him so many times he did not bother remembering the exact number. Although it may have appeared it at times, however, he did not hate the man. By contrast—he loved the man.

He could never allow his darkest secret to escape his Pandora box. He worried what his mother, the only woman that ever genuinely loved him, would have reacted if she learned of his sexuality before she died. His father did, however, when he discovered a naked Flintheart in the moors with another, also naked, boy, trying to hide behind a boulder. Out of his home he went, and into the streets at thirteen years old. As much as his father was concerned, Flintheart never existed; there was no way he helped raise, let alone helped conceive, a "bottomfucker," as he called it. Penniless, he boarded a ship en route to South Africa to start anew.

Flintheart often wondered if it was all of his father's fault. When it came to a deformity or a condition, it was often blamed on the mother. But the egg was mostly a vessel to carry the baby, unlike the sperm, which supplied the "goods," so to speak. Even if the egg was poor quality, it was still a poor quality vessel, for the most part. Perhaps it was his father that made him a homosexual. Perhaps that was why he was so embittered against his father.

His first years in South Africa were an emotional hell. Once he decided to mine himself into riches, he wanted to avoid being around other miners. What if he found one handsome, much more handsome than another man was supposed to find another man? And what if he gave into those feelings? The other miners solicited with the natives to retain their European manliness. Homosexuals and native men were pussycats; heterosexual sex produced lions. Flintheart wondered if he was ever a big enough man to begin with. He did not possess the stereotypical homosexual qualities, the effeminacy and the whatnot, but that did not mean anything to anyone if his orientation was exposed for all of the Transvaal to see. He had to lie about everything about him. Eventually it became more a habit than a lifestyle choice. He had to lie to survive.

He found a solution to mining with others: he would try to hide as well as possible in the crowd, similar to a hunting lioness, locate a man, and pounce on the man's findings. Eventually it became more a habit than a lifestyle choice. He had to steal to survive. Often, however, he would be caught and sent to jail or tied to a water buffalo as punishment.

It was during one of those times that he met Scrooge for the first time.

Initially he was just grateful to be off the water buffalo, to be on his feet again. This other duck, which appeared to be the same age as him, provided the perfect opportunity to move on from Kimberley, to continue lying and stealing to survive. His first victim would the young man that rescued him. His mind was set in stone the moment he noticed the young stranger's mining gear, and offered to be his guide in the area to gain his trust.

His name was McDuck, Scrooge McDuck from Scotland, as he proudly stated without any prompting or questioning. Flintheart opted not to reveal his name. Not only did he want to not be identified after he stole Scrooge's goods, but he wanted to remain anonymous if something did happen between the two ducks. Telling Scrooge his name would hurt him no matter what happened in the end. For all Scrooge knew, he was just a nameless Boer.

The two ducks were silent during the beginning of their ride. Flintheart wanted to avoid looking at Scrooge. He was the first duck he encountered ever since immigrating to South Africa. The other men were tempting enough, but a fellow duck had no chance.

It did not help that when he first glimpsed at his rescuer that his heart was already pounding. Flintheart originally attributed it to the adrenaline rushing though his body after being tied to a bloody water buffalo, but it continued as he sat prostate on the cart. The passenger took occasional glances at his driver to test his hypothesis, and his heartbeat definitely skyrocketed with each one. Scrooge McDuck was without doubt a quite handsome boy, after all.

He closed his eyes, partially to block the Transvaal's brutal sunlight. He imagined Scrooge and himself still in the cart, only instead of still driving on, Scrooge impeded. As Flintheart only had one extremely odd encounter that did not last long at all in his relationship resume, his mind struggled to conjure what would occur between two duck men. It scrambled to have Scrooge throw his large hat onto the ground and exchange a kiss with him. Finally the disrobing began.

Flintheart was enjoying his fantasy when he heard someone refer to "the Afrikaner." He opened his eyes. Scrooge asked him where he came from. Flintheart replied Scotland, just like you. Scrooge said that he did not sound Scottish. Flintheart said that that was what you get when for speaking only Dutch for so long. After a short moment of silence, all Scrooge commented was how interesting that was.

Their conversation continued for the afternoon's remainder. The more they talked about home, traveling, and adventure, the more attached Flintheart felt to Scrooge. It was wrong to connect to his victim, but they were so similar to each other it was uncanny. Even their physical appearances were akin. The only differences between the two ducks that Flintheart could recognize were how they tried to strike it rich and their sexual orientation.

As they sat by the campfire that night, Scrooge spoke on and on about his dreams and ambitions. If there was one thing that peeved Flintheart about Scrooge, it was that he never seemed to shut up.

Scrooge mentioned in between bites how he was going to earn his fortune fair and square. Flintheart's stomach was unsettled during this monologue, as there was no such thing as "fair and square" for the homosexual. The homosexual could never be himself, or be treated as an equal, because he was given an unfair card in life. That meant for him no giving into his crush and no benefit of the doubt if something did happen. Scrooge, as far as he was concerned, needed to be taught two lessons he learned as a homosexual: that life was unfair, and that he should trust no one.

He decided to strike when Scrooge was fast asleep, slumbering like the baby that everyone, from boy to girl, from gay to straight, from hero to villain, was at one point. Oh, how he ached to be that baby again, to be loved and not have to resort to dishonesty to live!

As he loaded the last items back into the cart, he noticed how Scrooge appeared so cherubic as he slept on the dirt. He may have no longer been a literal baby, but his face still retained youth under toughened skin. It was as if Scrooge shed away his insecurities, the few he had, when he slept. Flintheart wished he could at least kiss the most handsome man in the Transvaal, if not the entire world, but that would foil his plans. What if Scrooge woke up, discovered _another man _was _kissing _him? It was too risky.

The last thing he did was kick dirt into the fire. Even while he lived in Scotland, poor little Scroogey probably slept with fire in the fireplace and porridge filling his tummy. When he was homeless, Flintheart was warmed by rubbish and slept with acid eating away his stomach. How unfair that was! He placed the dirt coated logs into the cart and sped away to Johannesburg.

Flintheart hoped he would never sight Scrooge McDuck ever again. He was wrong.

No one was ever handsome or cute when they were angry. When Scrooge confronted him that afternoon, he appeared to be possessed by a devil, perhaps _the _devil. Whereas Scrooge was most vulnerable while asleep, Flintheart was such while afraid for his life. Why Scrooge did not shoot him, let his body bake and decompose in the Transvaal sun, was beyond him. Death would be preferable to the humiliation supplied by tarring and feathering and imprisonment. But that was Scrooge's decision, not his.

You hate anyone that places you in jail, loved one or not, and Flintheart felt extremely bitter over what Scrooge had done to him. He wanted to hate, abhor, the man, the _very name_ Scrooge McDuck, but something within him kept him from hating him completely. After all, didn't he bring this onto himself? It was _his _fault Scrooge hated him. Flintheart thought about this as he sat in prison, as he toiled in diamond mines, as he bought the diamond minds and brought the miners that made his life hell work themselves to death under his thumb, as he made his first million, first one hundred million, first billion...

Flintheart Glomgold had made it. Flintheart Glomgold had made it _big. _Flintheart Glomgold was living proof that a poor man can become a rich man, and especially that a homosexual can make it in the world. He was the richest man in all of South Africa and all of the African continent… But not the world. That title was McDuck's.

Flintheart had everything, except for two: the title of world's richest duck, and a man's love. He could never have both; he would have to choose. He could never have Scrooge's love, so he chose the title. He was going to show Scroogey how far he came.

A lifetime of lies and thievery warped Flintheart. He employed deceit and violence to get as close as possible to the top. He could not help it if he utilized the same tactics with Scrooge. He tried to steal his money, his ex-girlfriend (that being said, Goldie _would _make an excellent beard…) and his discoveries. When he was overwhelmingly passionate about accumulating wealth, he became the ruthless monster everyone regarded him as. Only after the thrill and the adventure did Flintheart revert back into his private, sensitive self.

Flintheart felt worse about hurting Scrooge with each encounter. Every time he competed against his rival he was conning Scrooge once again, breaking his own heart once again. Maybe if he wasn't kicked out at a young age he wouldn't had turned out like this. Maybe if his mother didn't die when he was a boy he wouldn't had turned out like this. Maybe if he wasn't even born a boy he wouldn't had turned out like this.

Every night, the true Flintheart, the sensitive, vulnerable thirteen-year-old, emerged. He lay in bed, head on pillow, glasses on night table, and stared at the ceiling. Tears rolled down as he imagined the elder Scrooge, a heart fluttering image, forgiving him for everything. He wanted to tell Scrooge his true feelings. Surely Scrooge would understand…

…If only that could happen. If only that was so easy in real life…

A dry teared Flintheart fell asleep, smiling as he dreamed of Scrooge's reciprocity. At least it could happen so easily in his dreams…

THE END


End file.
